The Truth of My Brother
by Midwich Cuckoo
Summary: In 1930 Rose talks to the sister of the man from her past, trying to get to know more about his childhood to understand him better.


**Disclaimer:** Written for pure fun and nothing more – I'm just an anonymous fan who decided to write a Titanic fic – for the first time in her life. **The beta is Rachel Greenwood.**

" **The Truth of My Brother"**

Do I want to talk about him?

Yes, Rose. I hadn't seen him for a long time, though. I cut any contact with my brother many years ago, actually – all the siblings did. It was well before the tragic Titanic cruise. It was easy, as I was already living in New York then – at first with my aunt Gertrude and later on with my husband and three children we had together. I still do. Until I found out in 1929 – last year - that Cal… my brother died in those tragic circumstances, I wasn't really thinking about him nor trying to find any information on him. It was like my brother never existed; like there were just us – me and my sisters. I deliberately erased from my memory any traces of my brother. I didn't want to have anything to do with my family – you would understand me about this, wouldn't you? Not all of us are allowed the privilege of having a good family. So we have something in common also in this respect, don't you agree? Not just the mere fact that we both used to know my brother back in the past – me being his family member and you as the woman who wanted to share her life with him.

Yes, Rose. Can I call you just by your first name? We don't know each other, yet I feel we do have much in common. We did both know my brother, after all, as I just said. Back, back in the past. Call me Frances, then. What? Sophronia? No. I never liked that weird name. I go by my middle one, Frances. All of us, all the siblings, either went by their middle names or just used their shortened versions. Like Milladora – everybody who didn't know her, thought at first that "Millie" was just short for common, garden variety Millicent or Mildred. Anzonetta kept on using her middle name like myself – in her case it was Edna. Some names can be really embarrassing. Our parents liked long and pretentious ones. All of us – the three sisters and our brother, of course, too, were given one like that. It's said rare and pretentious names are given by parents either very poor, who want to give their children at least an unusual name if they can't give them anything else or – on the opposite - by those from higher social classes who want their children to be someone better. Who want to express their conviction that their progeny is someone really unusual and as such should not be given ordinary names like Mary, Sara or Henry. Well, I don't know if this stereotype has much to do with reality but this certainly was this very case.

But let's come back to the topic, now. To the one of my brother. To why I never managed to establish a good connection with him and why I was relieved in some way when last year you told me he was dead. You found me then, you remember, yet we could only talk by phone, though you wanted to meet in person to talk about him. And now we finally have. We met to talk about my brother; someone I would rather just forget. He caused me so much pain when we were children and later when we were growing up.

The man we both knew, ever since his early childhood showed clear signs of what J. C. Prichard described as moral insanity. It's like the doctor lived now and not one hundred years ago and could know him, see Cal with his own eyes. Not many people realized the extent of evil lurking in my brother's mind. But I knew. Yes, people did realize his arrogance, selfishness and insatiable need to do everything his own way, yet they used to boil it down to just him being a spoiled child. We have been talking a bit about this by phone, then, you remember – about our family background and the like. You wanted to know more details though, and you are now here with me – talking about my brother's childhood and our family. It would be weird actually, if Cal wasn't extremely spoiled given the circumstances, you have to agree. He could convince people he wasn't the child he really was, and his boyish charm helped him do this. He was just a small boy then; just five or seven years old and people loved him. It's all this charm. He was a beautiful little boy, and he grew up to be a handsome and charming young man. Girls loved him. And he loved girls. Yes, girls and not women. You were younger than him. I think he chose you deliberately, seeming to think women significantly younger than himself were easier targets. They were much more naïve and inexperienced; more able to get caught in the poisonous net of the lies he weaved. A very subtle net, indeed; one weaved with so delicate threads that you couldn't see them until you got caught. Cal was extremely perfidious and had a good knowledge of people – inborn knowledge, you could say. He knew how to wrap others around his smallest finger.

And when he caused harm, it was always done in this very way that no one could suspect him. Like when he stole Milladora's pearl necklace when we were teenagers. He gave it to his girlfriend Harriett Fulton later on, as Millie found out a week later, being told about this by her friend. He loved jewels. He seemed to think the bigger a jewel a woman gets is, the more in love she's going to fall with him. Our parents didn't believe us, when we complained about this. 'What would Cal need Millie's necklace for?" mother asked me then. "He's a boy and she just lost it, that's all." She never got angry with him. But it was the only time when he did something like this openly; he typically took care not to be suspected of doing something wrong. So people liked him. And it was so easy for him. He was really smart. A really talented young man. Maybe it's better for the world now that he's dead now, yet he could have done something for it if he lived longer; for all his flaws, my brother was a person of great talents and could do have done much to improve it – and himself.

Unfortunately for the world, though, his talents didn't serve the forces of good. He was indeed talented… but also talented at stealing, talented at blackmailing, talented at getting whenever he wanted to get whether by legal means or something. Whenever my brother wanted to get something – or to do something – nothing could prevent him from doing it. I think it was like this with Titanic, as well. I actually do believe why he went to Titanic was because he wanted to participate in its maiden voyage because he thought it was something very special. That's all. Not because he loved travelling that much but because it was the biggest and most amazing ship for the most amazing man in the whole wide world. Yes, this is what Cal thought about himself, even if he wanted people to think he was a nice, more humble person. And they did – he had many friends. I told you Cal was good with people. Until, of course, they made him so angry that he couldn't calm down, showing his real face – which happened rarely. Like once when he was maybe fourteen at best. He stole our uncle Ambrose's gun and tried to kill Hattie Fulton and her cousin. The gun was unloaded, it was just our grandfather's souvenir from the time of the Civil War, yet he didn't know this. It only shows how angry he was. In cases of when he was like that, it was really better if there was no weapon around – you don't know what he could do with it if he could get his hands on it. I can only imagine Cal didn't change later on in his life in this respect. The reason for this? Jealousy. He had caught Hattie _talking_ with her cousin Hugh – my brother didn't know him then and had no idea he was her family member. They were just talking; that's all. I truly can't imagine what he could do if he found out his girlfriend -his _property_ –was actually cheating on him. Not that he himself was an angel in this respect. He liked girls, as I told you before and started very early with them. I will never forget how he was caught by our neighbor with his hand under the dress of his daughter. An unwilling one, you can believe me on this. Young Sally Portman was just _nine_ , can you imagine? And my brother? A week before, he turned fifteen.

I remember this, for it was his very birthday when he beat up young Joe Woolner for laughing at his "funny" name. Well, it was indeed an uncommon one, but I don't understand why Cal… my brother reacted so strongly. I always suspected the fact that Joe's dog was later found poisoned, could have something to do with this, too. But it was just that one time. Typically, when he wanted to cause harm, he paid someone to do this instead of him; back when he was a child, he did it with sweets. Later on with cash. He always had a lot of cash, stealing it from our parents who didn't suspect anything. All he did to other kids himself was just pinch them and call them names, nothing more. He always had a friend around, a bigger, stronger boy who beat up kids when my brother told him to. No one believed them; he was such a nice boy, and so religious to boot. He never forgot to attend a Sunday ceremony although he was an atheist. Just to be seen in church to establish a good reputation for himself. "People always trust religious people," Cal was always saying. And people did. You also did. I can't be surprised; you were so young back then, without any life experience and very sheltered. He was older than you and much more experienced. A real womanizer full of charm, always claiming he was going to marry a rich and beautiful woman, and everyone was going to envy him.

He always followed other people's expectations. Whatever they liked, my brother pretended to like as well. I remember how once he bought Harriett a small painting for her birthday she loved. But he didn't and for the whole rest of that day kept complaining to us how little taste in art she had and that the guy who painted this, should put his paintbrush away and do something more useful with his life, for he wouldn't ever amount to anything, having no talent at all. And my brother respected only those who do; those who achieve something in their life, like rich businessmen and the like and if artists, then just those who will achieve something – famous painters or well known writers whose names and works are recognized all over the world. He pretended he knew about _everything_ – like art in this case, as if he was some critic while, I suspect, he didn't have too much professional knowledge of art – or generally, about _anything._ He just couldn't stand that there could be any sphere of life he didn't know about – not just for the sake of knowing but also because he wanted to have his own opinion on anything. He wanted to know everything – to know the whole wide world; just to boast: "Oh, I know this and that, I was here and there, I saw this, I saw that". Just to boast and to be admired, that's all. I bet that he pretended to know a lot about things that interested you, then, for he could talk a lot about such stuff, because he just enjoyed the sound of his own voice.

Cal was also always very lazy and never did anything himself, always asking others to do things for him. It was so ever since he was a small boy who didn't want to do things for himself and had to ask his sisters to do this instead of him. "Sweetpea, bring me this; do this instead of me; my dear sister, I have no idea how to do this so do this for me if you love me". And when you want to achieve something, whether it's in business, acting, painting – _anything_ , actually, you have to work hard – you should know this yourself. I don't think you would have had a good life with him if you'd married him. He was so spoiled and unused to working hard. Whenever he had to, he was doing his best to sneak away from his duty. He just wanted to live off people, like women, for example. The world was his oyster; it was opening in front of him, showing him the most precious pearls and my brother just wanted to get all of them. He loved girls, they were his obsession. I think he loved you, even if this love wasn't too deep. He just liked attractive young females, that's all. I don't think if you decided on sharing your life with him, you would have had a good one with him, as a man's good looks and personal charm aren't everything.

Another flaw of him was that he tended to take risks and never thought twice about anything when he wanted to do something. He didn't value his own life too highly, knowing no fear; this is the thing he was famous for. He wasn't afraid of death or anything else for that matter. He was really brave. I think he didn't fully realize he didn't have a second life, as strange as it may sound. And now he's really dead. I didn't actually expect him to see him as an old man, due to the flaws I told you about. That's really strange to think about, still. Cal seemed to be one of those people you never think could die, like any ordinary Joe. He just left the world – the big oyster opening in front of him and offering him its most beautiful pearls. Pearls. It reminds me of my sister's pearl necklace he stole when we were young. My mother didn't believe her. And even if she did, she wouldn't care, for those were just cheap artificial pearls she won in a lottery at a fair.

So, he's really dead now. Maybe it's better for the world. I'm actually a little bit surprised you arrived here, after all those years, asking for conversation, for you wanted to know something more about Cal from someone who used to know him. You finally reached me, and it was after all those years. My brother certainly did make a strong impression on you. He always did. I'm just surprised you did this after so many years that have passed. But then again, it could indeed be hard to find his family members. Over the course of years, my brother Cal, also started to use his middle, less embarrassing name. So this is the truth you arrived for and I don't know why you are crying now. Because it was what the truth is like, bitter as it is. This is what my brother Caligula Jack Dawson really was.


End file.
